


Negativity Bias

by OnlySlightlyObsessed1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 5k to 15k, Coda, Episode: s01e29 Operation - Annihilate, First Dates, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Missing Scene, Pining, i mean it's not really a coda but i set it after the episode does that count
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySlightlyObsessed1/pseuds/OnlySlightlyObsessed1
Summary: It's a common human characteristic to interpret ambiguity as a negative. McCoy is several assumptions ahead of Spock
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 40
Kudos: 200





	Negativity Bias

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what to say about this fic. You only need to know about the episode for the first "missing scene" bit of this fic, and the rest isn't really related to the episode at all except for the fact that in my mind, it's what motivates McCoy. I changed the explanation for Spock's blindness, because for the life of me I can't make a second eyelid make sense when I can see his eyes are open in the actual episode, and if thy're supposed to be clear then _why wouldn't he be able to see through them_
> 
> Um, talk to me about Spock's "very strong reaction" to "the face of Doctor McCoy bending over [him]" and how worried about him McCoy seems to be?

Doctor McCoy had promised to test the extent of the damage to Spock’s optic nerve once he had finished supervising the creation and programming of the satellites, and so he had. It was quite strange, to lay on the biobed and know that his eyes were open, and to see nothing at all. It was not like closing his eyes, nor like being in a perfectly dark room. In either case he would have still perceived changes in light, or seen images that his mind created. Instead, it felt as though he had walked from a very bright room into a very dark one, and was simply waiting for his eyes to adjust. They did not adjust. He could see nothing.

Above his face, Doctor McCoy hovered, silent, with whatever instrument he was using to take his scans.

“Spock.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

McCoy’s inhale was significant, as though he were bracing himself, and Spock mentally prepared himself for whatever results he was about to share, but McCoy only said, “I’m going to be in the next room looking these over. You only have to call if you need anything, and someone will be right over.”

Spock said, “Thank you.”

With McCoy gone, Spock was alone. He did not think it was premature to assume that he was facing several changes to his life and career. It was no simple thing to reconstruct an optic nerve, even if the damage was not so severe. Recuperation could take months. If it was totally destroyed, and from McCoy’s reaction he thought that likely, he would need to be evaluated for optical replacement adaptive technologies, which Spock knew little about. McCoy, surely, would provide him with any necessary information, but Spock knew it was not a quick process, and learning to use them would require months, if not years, of therapy and practice before he could return to any kind of job on a Starship. He would have to leave _Enterprise_. The thought pained him, more than he would have liked to admit, but privately, he saw little use in ignoring the fact. _Enterprise_ had been his home, the crew his friends, for approaching fifteen years. Spock had expected to remain onboard in the service for at least as long as it took to complete their mission. This injury, though infinitely preferable to the pain and eventual death he would have suffered with the parasite, was deeply troubling. It cost him more than his sight; it would cost him his friends.

The button in his hand, if pressed, would bring McCoy, or one of the other doctors or nurses to his side. They would be consummate professionals, should he wish to discuss his reactions to the event, but such a thing would be shameful, it was not Spock’s right to take McCoy, or anyone else, away from their responsibilities elsewhere. He passed a hand through the air in front of his face, and for a moment, he thought he might have discerned some slight movement. Perhaps his mind was indeed attempting to compensate for the lack of visual input, McCoy had warned him of the possibility, or perhaps his eyes were not irreversibly damaged after all. Spock was not sure how to tell, but the Doctor would know, and he was only in the next room, as he had said.

But the door opened before Spock could make any decision, and McCoy’s voice said, “Spock, Jim wanted you to know that it worked, the things on the surface are dying.”

“That is good news. Congratulations on your satellites.”

“They were mostly Scotty’s satellites,” McCoy said. “Spock, I want to run more scans, my results aren’t making much sense.”

“Very well Doctor.” Spock could hear McCoy moving about the room, if he concentrated, he could sense McCoy’s familiar mental presence as well. It was comforting, though he had no wish to admit such a thing to McCoy. “I was wondering, how will I know what is a trick of the mind, and what is a sign of genuine recuperation? Should I be expecting any recuperation?” He hoped his tone was even enough not to give away any investment in McCoy’s answer.

Troublingly, McCoy was silent for a long while, continuing his movements about the room and coming to stand by Spock’s bed. The faint noise of the scanner began. “Well, the easiest was to tell is to have someone else corroborate anything you’re seeing. If the room seems to get brighter, or brighter in places, and you are in fact turned towards a light source, that may a real sight. If the lights haven’t changed, it’s mostly likely your mind.” He sighed before continuing. “I wish I knew what to tell you about recuperation, Spock, I’m running more tests because the first ones don’t show any damage to your retinas or optic nerve at all, and I can’t explain it.”

Spock blinked. The area above him did appear lighter than the rest of the room.

“Am I looking upwards, Doctor?” he asked.

“Yes you are. You won’t lose your ability to track eye movements so quickly.” McCoy was still moving his scanner.

“Am I looking at a light?”

The scanning stopped.

“Yes, you are.”

Spock had nothing more to say. He did not wish to put voice to the question, that perhaps his eyesight was not irreversibly damaged after all.

McCoy spoke again. “Spock, I want to run a different kind of test. I’m going to put something over your head, I’ll need you to leave your eyes closed for thirty seconds after I turn it on. Then I’ll work with you for a moment to see if you can find the lights in the room, is that alright?”

“Yes Doctor,” Spock said. It was in McCoy’s nature to inform his patients what procedures he intended to preform, assuming they were in any state to understand him, but especially when he perceived them to be in distress. Spock disliked the implication that McCoy thought he was distressed, but he gained a new appreciation for the merit in narrating his actions. Spock’s consent or non-consent were functionally useless, as McCoy was within his right as Chief Medical Officer to order Spock to submit to any medical care he deemed necessary, but as McCoy had informed him numerous times in the past, it did no good for a patient to feel helpless or violated. Spock had not sufficiently appreciated that, either.

The contraption over his head hummed much more loudly than the handheld scanners McCoy had been using. Spock focused on staying as still as possible until McCoy switched it off.

“Don’t move until I get back,” he was told.

McCoy returned very quickly, and sat him up in the biobed. Spock would have protested, he perfectly capable of sitting in a chair, or on the biobed laid flat, but he had no interest in beginning an argument.

“Look around the room,” McCoy said.

Spock did so to the best of his ability. He could discern nothing, but perhaps one corner of the room appeared brighter. McCoy was silent, and had given him no further instruction, so Spock pointed.

“Is there a light source in that direction?”

“Yes,” McCoy said, growing excitement in his voice, “and now?”

Spock blinked and surveyed the room again, McCoy had changed something. “Is the light source now off?”

“Yes,” McCoy said, “and?”

There was still precious little he could see, but he continued attempting to focus his eyes on anything at all.

“You have turned on a different light, in that direction.”

The hand that landed on Spock’s shoulder was unexpected, and he was pleased that he did not startle.

“Spock, this is good news. I’ll be right back.” Again, McCoy’s presence disappeared.

Despite his assurance, McCoy did not reenter the room for several minutes, and Spock decided he may as well make use of the time through light meditation. The room was quiet and still and he needed to calm himself and gather his thoughts.

“Spock, has anyone ever done a structural scan of your eyes before?”

Spock did startle then, despite the fact that McCoy had not touched him. In concentrating on his meditation, he had failed to notice McCoy enter.

“I don’t believe so. My vision was tested as a child, but not beyond ascertaining that I could see within normal parameters for a Vulcan,” Spock said.

“How much Vulcan biology did they make you take in school?”

McCoy had drawn up a chair near him.

“The standard curriculum contained several units on Vulcan biology, to be taught over the course of our schooling, but none focused on eyes.”

“There’s a vestigial structure in the eyes, not all Vulcan’s have it, it’s like a second iris, and you, Mister Spock, despite being half human, have a second iris.”

Spock wasn’t sure what to say.

“In light of that discovery, I prescribe considerable time spent in a dimly lit room. This vestigial iris rarely ever does anything, so I can’t say much about when it might relax and let you see again. The cells are photosensitive, so I’m hoping, if we give it time in the dark, it’ll stop spasming. If it does, you should see again, completely normally.”

“And if it does not?” Spock asked.

“Well then there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

From McCoy’s explanation, Spock had expected to be left alone to recover for some significant period of time, but McCoy remained next to him and lapsed into silence. Every so often, he would take another scan.

“Doctor,” Spock said. He couldn’t see anything, exactly, but his sense of light and dark was certainly better, the room appeared very dark.

“What is it?” Sock was quite sure McCoy had stood to lean over him, and as he blinked several more time McCoy’s outline came into focus. “Spock?” McCoy asked again, worry creeping into his tone.

“I believe my vision is returning. Is it quite dark?”

He was beginning to be able to make out McCoy’s features.

“Computer, lights up five percent.”

The room brightened, and he could clearly see McCoy leaning over him, eye wide and brows drawn in worry, lips just slightly parted. It was breathtaking to have all of McCoy’s professional and personal concern focused on him so intently, and though it had undoubtedly happened before, it was the first time Spock was genuinely uninjured and able to appreciate such a sight.

“I appear to be able to see normally again,” Spock said, and the relief hit him at the same time that McCoy broke into a wide grin and gripped his arm. The combination was dizzying.

“Spock,” McCoy said nothing more, just squeezed him gently and darted away, reaching for his scanner. Spock wanted to call him back, wanted to reach out and hold him in return, wanted to continue watching McCoy look at him and smile. It was a logical, if inconvenient time for such desires, common as they were, to surface. By the time McCoy had put down his scanner again, Spock had suppressed them.

“You’re fit as a fiddle, Commander, cleared for duty.” McCoy was still smiling.

It was strange, Spock reflected, that McCoy’s good mood upon learning that Spock was not permanently blinded did not last particularly long. On the bridge, though Jim was obviously quite pleased by Spock’s recovery, and McCoy deigned to throw a joke Spock’s way, he seemed unsettled, even when Spock attempted to engage him with their usual banter.

McCoy’s disquiet dampened the pleasure at hearing his comment to Jim, which Spock told himself was for the best. It would not do to go about allowing other’s opinions of him and his work to so greatly affect his mood. Certainly he had already known McCoy respected him and his work, however much they tended to disagree. In fact, from McCoy, a willingness to disagree was a sign of respect.

He had been ordered to report to sickbay the next morning, despite McCoy’s assurances that his inner iris would not pose further issue. McCoy’s demeanor was again subdued, and Spock was unsure how to go about inquiring after his emotional health. They did not customarily discuss such matters in the absence of dire emergency, and the dire emergency had passed.

“Hold still,” McCoy said, quiet and absent. Spock had been, and he considered McCoy’s instruction superfluous, but he refrained from comment since to do so would require movement. McCoy was fitting the same structural scanner over his face again, adjusting several knobs and then it was placed over Spock’s eyes and he was forced to close them. McCoy turned it on and the loud humming began, irritating, but not uncomfortable, even with Spock’s more acute hearing.

Thirty seconds later the humming stopped and McCoy removed it from Spock’s face. Spock did not move, in case there was any other test McCoy would decide to run. But McCoy said nothing, and Spock eventually sat up, confused.

“Doctor?”

He turned at Spock’s voice, his attention had been focused on a computer terminal where he had been inputting data.

“Is there anything else you require?” Spock asked.

“No, you’re free to go, Commander,” McCoy said.

By dinner that evening, McCoy’s behavior had returned to his baseline emotive state, in light of which, Spock dismissed his concerns.

They took leave on Starbase 4, where the _Enterprise_ underwent minor repair and supplies were restocked. Spock took a day to engage in intense meditation and reorganization of his quarters, but was dragged away that evening for dinner on board the Starbase by Jim with other crewmembers. He found himself seated in between Uhura on his right and Jim on his left, Chapel McCoy on Uhura’s right, Rand, Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov circling around the rest of the ovular table.

Confirming Spock’s suspicions about the relative value of human typical shore leave “rest” activities, First Scotty, then Jim and Chapel and the rest of them in quick succession said their goodbyes and cited their exhaustion, leaving just Spock to finish his tea, and McCoy, who for some reason had not left.

“Are you not tired, Doctor?” Spock asked, staring up at him.

McCoy watched him for a second. “Do you want to come to the arboretum with me? You can bring your tea with you.”

“Very well.”

They walked in companionable quiet through the corridors, which in that time of evening were full of Starbase personnel going on and off shift. A turbolift took them down several levels and McCoy, who seemed to already know the way, led them through three more turns before opening the door and gesturing for Spock to go first. It was a shockingly large space. Very close to the entrance was a large California Live Oak, familiar to Spock from the time he had spent at the Academy. The gravel path was wide and branched out into smaller winding trails further in.

“I stopped in here briefly this morning,” McCoy said, “but I didn’t really get a chance to look around.”

“It is a beautiful creation,” Spock admitted, and pretended not to see the flash of smugness on McCoy’s face.

They walked amid the Earth section for a time, McCoy would occasionally bend down to inspect a certain plant, or read the signs, until they found themselves at the force field entrance to the Tellarite section. Spock paused, assuming McCoy would want to turn back and retire to the ship, but McCoy continued on and was through the doorway before Spock hurried to catch up to him.

The section they emerged into was very green and humid.

“Have you ever been to Tellar Prime?” McCoy asked, petting one of the taller shrubs absently.

“No,” Spock said, “have you?”

“Once when I was little. My parents took my sister and I around to some important Federation landmarks, but we didn’t get tickets in time and we never made it out to Vulcan.”

“I see.” Spock watched an insect crawl along McCoy’s sleeve and debated whether to mention it to him until it flew off on its own. “Perhaps you will visit one day in the future.”

It had seemed like a reasonable statement to him, but McCoy looked at him askance. “I certainly hope so, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

“I wasn’t aware visiting Vulcan was so important to you,” Spock said.

They continued walking, passing a giggling young couple who were putting on their best composed outward appearances as they passed by adults.

“Not Vulcan specifically, but imagine living a whole life, as a Starfleet officer, and never making it to Vulcan? Don’t you want to visit Tellar Prime?”

Spock considered the question more carefully. “If the ship goes down on our next mission and I do not every have the chance, I will be content with my life as it has stood, but yes as I hope to live a rather longer life than that, I do expect to visit Tellar Prime at some point.”

McCoy seemed satisfied with that, and they turned left down a smaller path. Along the edges were bright mossy looking plants that acted as ground cover. Not exactly the main attraction of the garden, but pleasant to look at in their own way. McCoy bent to touch them gently, and Spock wondered again what had prompted him to ask Spock to accompany him here.

As beautiful as the gardens were, and as pleasant as Spock found them, McCoy’s mental affect did not seem to be improved by the gardens. On the contrary, the further they walked in silence the worse he seemed to be feeling. Anxiety and dread seeped through the space between them and put Spock at ill ease.

“Doctor,” he said, careful to keep his tone quiet to respect the atmospheric stillness as McCoy stared at a large flowering bush and dripped misery, “are you well?”

Something about the question seemed to startle McCoy, it obviously caught him off guard, but he didn’t answer. Spock held his gaze and eventually McCoy looked away, exhaling sharply.

“Let’s sit down.”

There was a bench several meters away at the end of trail offshoot. It looked out at a brightly lit patch of tall grasses and flowers amid the trees. Small lizard like animals scattered as they disturbed the area with their footsteps. Spock’s apprehension grew as he waited for McCoy to speak again.

“I have something to say.”

McCoy was not looking at him. His elbows rested on his knees; his hands folded together in between them making a V.

“I am at your disposal,” Spock said.

“Alright.” McCoy sighed. “I, I want you to know first, this isn’t a request, I’m not asking anything of you. You don’t have to—well—” he took a breath and held it. Obviously, whatever he intended to say, it was not going as he wished.

“Perhaps it will be easier if you simply tell me,” Spock suggested softly.

“Alright,” McCoy said again. “I have feelings for you, rather strong ones. Please don’t make this harder than it is by pretending you don’t know what that means.”

The background noise of the arboretum suddenly seemed extremely loud. The air filtration system hissed and hummed and the rustling noises from the plants and small animals were amplified to be overwhelming. Spock found himself utterly without anything to say.

McCoy continued to look at the ground. His anxiety, having peaked and diminished several seconds ago, was rising again. “I know that’s not something you wanted to hear from me—”

“You assume that,” Spock said, as his voice returned to him just in time to make a nuisance of itself.

“What?” McCoy sat up straight and looked at him.

Spock wished he hadn’t spoken at all. “I apologize, please continue.”

It took another moment of incredulity before McCoy seemed to steel himself. Spock assumed irritation with him was winning out over the discomfort of emotional vulnerability. “I was saying, I value our professional relationship, and I’d hate to lose you as a friend, so I needed to tell you before it got to the point you were going to figure it out for yourself and make everything uncomfortable. I can be professional about this, as long as you trust me to do so. I uh.”

In the pause Spock frantically tried to make sense of McCoy’s speech. He was not necessarily ignorant of the social norms surrounding relationships among humans, and their conversation so far did not fit into any of the scripts he had learned. McCoy’s assurances seemed more fitting to a post break up conversation, or perhaps post rejection, two steps that had been neatly skipped over.

“I haven’t told Jim anything, but of you want to, I don’t mind. I’d just appreciate if this didn’t become common knowledge around the ship I—”

“Doctor,” Spock said, because the more McCoy talked the more confusing everything became, “please wait a moment.”

McCoy nodded.

It was very tempting to begin with an attempt to clarify McCoy’s nebulous, “strong feelings”, but he had been specifically asked not to, and to ignore McCoy’s request would undoubtedly be counterproductive. It would be better to begin where McCoy had. “Why is this not a request?”

Clearly, he had miscalculated, because hurt flashed across McCoy’s face for a brief second before it was replaced by anger. “Are you kidding me?”

Spock tried to backtrack to figure out why the question had led him astray and quickly gave up as McCoy continued talking.

“I’m trying to be an adult here, Spock.” He stood.

“I, please,” Spock stood as well. It had been years since he had found himself quite so lost in a social setting, but he despised the feeling just as much, more so, since he had thought there was some level of understanding between McCoy and himself. “Please sit down.” He seated himself again and looked up at McCoy, hoping it would diffuse the situation slightly.

Eventually, McCoy followed suit and put his head in his hands. “I don’t understand you, Spock.”

“I believe this conversation has gotten away from us,” Spock said.

“A bit, yeah.”

“If you will allow me to attempt to summarize, perhaps it will become clearer where the misunderstanding has occurred.”

With the pained expression on McCoy’s face, Spock got the impression that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he waved his hand in acquiescence.

“You appeared distressed,” McCoy was pinching his nose between his fingers as Jim sometimes did, but he was listening, “you said you had something to say. According to you, it was important that I understand you were expressly not requesting anything. You then said that you have, in your words, strong feelings for me. You assumed this information was undesired. I presume then you went through a series of further assumptions that went unvoiced, as you went on to a small speech I can only describe as damage control, and I admit I am at a loss to understand the goal of this conversation.”

“Apparently I thought today was a good day to experience one of the most humiliating conversations of my life,” McCoy said. His hands hand dropped from his face and he was staring at the ground, and smiling. Some humans did, when they felt embarrassed.

“I do not intend to humiliate you,” Spock said.

“I know and that makes it worse.”

Attempting to understand McCoy’s motivations was proving to be useless. “If you will allow me to change the subject for a moment,” Spock did not wait for McCoy to agree or disagree, “I have, to adopt your phrasing, strong feelings for you. Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime? Or accompany me on some other date?” This, Spock felt, followed the scripts he understood, and would potentially get them closer to some kind of comprehensible conversation.

Unfortunately, McCoy stubbornly continued ignoring the script altogether and said, “What?”

“I am asking you on a date, Doctor, do you accept or decline?”

“No, hold on.” McCoy put up a hand, and Spock tried not to feel frustrated. “You don’t ask people on dates. You don’t have feelings—when I say feelings here, Spock, I mean romantic ones—for people. These are facts. I know them, because I have worked with you for some time now, and you are Vulcan. Vulcans don’t date people, they don’t admit to feelings for people, and you don’t either. So—”

Although he was off script, they did appear to be coming closer to solving their misunderstanding, which was something of a relief.

“Those are assumptions you have made, Doctor. Not facts.”

“They are not assumptions,” McCoy was getting irritated too, “I may not have been to Vulcan, but you are not the only Vulcan I know, and I made it through over twenty-one years of school, and god knows how many cultural awareness seminars. Dating, spontaneous romantic feelings, are not a part of Vulcan culture.”

“We are not bound by our cultures,” Spock said.

McCoy sputtered incoherently for several second before bursting out with, “You are the most infuriating person I know! You—you—I know you! You do try to live by your culture, despite having chosen to serve on a primarily human vessel! And I’m trying my goddamned best to acknowledge that!”

“I appreciate it, and your uncharacteristic sensitivity on this matter is further evidence that we have the potential to be compatible romantic partners.”

“Oh good lord.”

Spock watched him put his head in his hands and then looked back out at the garden. He did not reply. Presumably, McCoy needed a minute to himself, and Spock could use the time to go back over their conversation so far and attempt to make sense of it. He was displeased that it seemed to be causing McCoy distress.

McCoy said. “Okay.”

Spock looked back at him.

“Okay,” McCoy said again. “Can you explain something to me, Spock?”

“I can try.”

“Fine. You have ‘strong feelings’ for me?”

McCoy wasn’t meeting his eyes. He was still sitting leaned over his knees eyes fixed on the ground.

“Yes,” Spock said. “Of a romantic nature.”

“Right.”

“What further explanation do you require?”

McCoy said, “When—no. Where is this coming from?”

“I do not believe emotional—”

McCoy made a noise.

“—attachments can be traced back to a specific source, however, I find you attractive and your company enjoyable. Is that enough?”

Finally, McCoy looked at him again. “It just doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Does it have to?” Spock asked.

“I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve still not really on the same page,” McCoy said.

Spock puzzled with the question. “May I ask you something, Doctor?” He interpreted McCoy’s hand motion to mean that he should consider himself permitted to do so. “Why do you find it unlikely that I reciprocate your interest?”

“I thought I said already,” was muttered under McCoy’s breath. “But really? Because we don’t always get along very well, and, you don’t exactly come across as the type to be interested in anybody.”

“Do we not get along?”

Spock found himself rather distressed by the suggestion.

“Well, we do, I mean, we don’t . . .” McCoy trailed off looking disturbed. “Are we, flirting, when you accuse me of being too emotional and I point out that we could all use some emotional honesty in our lives?”

The thought had occurred to Spock. More than once. Debating with McCoy was enticing and often pushed the boundaries of civility, but Spock enjoyed it. And he enjoyed seeing McCoy’s stance widen as he went on the offensive. He enjoyed the way he bounced on his toes and gestured with his hands and widened his eyes and flung his feelings about the room.

“I believe it only considered flirting if it is intentional.”

McCoy was frowning at him in a truly remarkable manner. “I don’t think everyone would agree with you on that but fine, my question stands.”

Spock said nothing. If he were to answer yes, would they be forced even further off track? The ethical considerations, if he were flirting with McCoy when he assumed McCoy did not reciprocate his interests—saying no was just as bad, as McCoy would take it as further confirmation of his baseless assumption that Spock did not care for him, which was counter to Spock’s current goal.

“You’re being very helpful,” McCoy told him sarcastically.

Spock ignored him. “For the most part, I find out discussions pleasing. The manner in which we interact is unique to our relationship, socially rewarding, and intellectually stimulating. Additionally, it amuses Jim.”

“All of those things huh.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to ask me on a date.”

“I have asked you on a date, you have yet to answer me.”

They sat there in the artificial sunlight of the Tellar Prime garden section, McCoy staring at him, clearly still not quite convinced.

“Alright I’ll go on a date with you.”

Despite the truly ridiculous and still completely baffling conversation it had taken to get them to that point, Spock felt himself straighten slightly, pleased.

“I still don’t understand what just happened, but,” McCoy said.

“Neither do I.”

There was an insect crawling on Spock’s shoe. He picked his foot up and crossed it over his leg to inspect the creature more closely. It was not a species he could name.

“I see I’ve lost your attention,” McCoy said.

“On the contrary,” Spock told him, and allowed the bug to crawl onto his hand. “However, I this creature would not have remained for the rest of our conversation to allow me to examine it, and I hope you will forgive a momentary interest in the local wildlife.”

He set his boot down again and watched the bug crawl in his cupped hands, it had nine legs, but Spock could not be sure if that was its normal state or if it had lost some. McCoy leaned over, brushing Spock’s arm as he did so, to observe the creature for himself.

“Fascinating.”

“Merely interesting,” Spock said. “Perhaps only curious.”

To his surprise, instead of rolling his eyes in exasperation, or asking for deliverance, or any of McCoy’s usual responses to such provocation, he glanced up at Spock through his eyelashes and smiled.

“Now we’re flirting.”

McCoy’s proximity and the playful fond look on his face did strange things to Spock’s stomach, which was not unusual. But this time, Spock turned his head so they were close enough that McCoy’s face was almost blurry. McCoy did not move backwards.

“Doctor,” he began softly.

“Your bug is escaping,” McCoy said, in an even quieter tone. Spock looked down in time to see it crawling over his thumb to the back of his hand, McCoy let their fingers brush as he caught the bug in his palm. It wandered in a confused circle for several moments, then opened its wings and flew into the air forcing Spock to jerk backwards to avoid it colliding with his face. The space between him and McCoy was again an appropriate several inches. “So. When’s this date you’re taking me on?”

“When is the most convenient time for you?” Spock asked.

“I seem to have some free time right now,” McCoy replied, and he was almost smiling until he hastened to add, “or anytime, after shift, one of these days.”

“Now is an acceptable time in my personal calendar as well, Doctor,” Spock told him.

“Leonard.”

“Leonard.” Somehow, more than McCoy accepting his invitation out, this was the moment of significance. “May I invite you to join me in making use of the station’s observation deck? It is open to the public for another hour.”

Now McCoy was smiling, and as if his smile radiated heat, Spock felt warm.

“That sounds lovely.”

Spock stood and offered a hand to McCoy, who stared at it while he stood as well. When Spock did not retract it, he raised an eyebrow at him.

“If you do not wish to hold my hand at this time, you may simply say so, or alternatively,” Spock began, but McCoy reached out and he stopped speaking as McCoy’s fingers enlaced themselves with his own.

“Take me to the observation deck.”

McCoy did not let go of his hand even when they arrived, and Spock was inordinately pleased. He enjoyed the casual intimacy. They were not the only ones there, unsurprisingly, but it was not particularly crowded, and the current occupants had left the lights on their lowest setting, which allowed for the best viewing experience. There was even an unoccupied couch, off to the side with a slightly a slightly subpar view, but comfortable. As their hands were joined, McCoy sat right next to him, close enough that their legs touched, and they were then indistinguishable from any of the other couples. That too, Spock found unexpectedly pleasing.

Directly at eye level through the window was the third planet in the nearest star system. Its natural gas oceans glittered.

Spock looked over to his right and found McCoy was looking back at him. He raised an eyebrow, and McCoy half smiled and looked away. Surely there was some appropriate topic of conversation, but he lacked the imagination necessary to think of it, and McCoy stayed silent. Occasionally, his thumb brushed the back of Spock’s hand.

“Doct—” no he was supposed to call McCoy Leonard in this context, “Leonard.”

“Yes Spock?” McCoy didn’t look at him.

“If you will excuse my forwardness to ask you this now, are you available for dinner after shift in two days’ time?”

“I am,” McCoy said. He was beginning to smile. “That your plan for the second date?”

“Yes.”

“Is the question meant to imply that the first date is over?” McCoy was definitely smiling.

“Not at all,” Spock replied with as much dignity as he could, “it is merely my attempt to ensure I will have the maximum amount of time possible to plan the second one, considering the extreme lack of time to plan the activity we are currently engaged in.”

“Very logical.”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell again, but it was more comfortable than it had been before. The very edge of the planet’s moon was beginning to peak around its far side. McCoy leaned into him slightly, and Spock broke his grip on McCoy’s hand to reach his arm around McCoy’s back. McCoy leaned on him further, and the warmth Spock felt this time was not only metaphorical. 

“Look up, Spock.”

He did so, and at first he saw nothing, but then something shimmered, and then another, and he realized he was looking up at a steady stream of particles, perhaps dust.

“I was in the turbolift with Scotty on our way to the docking port to disembark. He was going on about how he’d been doing some reading about the difficulties they had building this station, if I’m right, one of them was that stream of interstellar dust. It flows right through what would otherwise be the best spot to build the station.”

“Mister Scott’s recreational decisions never cease to baffle me,” Spock said.

McCoy hummed. “I’m not sure you’re one to judge.”

“Perhaps not.”

“You’re out here wasting your free evening with me, after all.”

The statement prickled. It was unlike McCoy to be quite so self-depreciating in his verbal digs at Spock.

“I must request that you cease to make negative comments about my choice of romantic partner, I am rather fond of him,” he said, only a second later than would naturally follow the beat of the conversation.

“Are you now?” McCoy asked, rather softly, in just too vulnerable of a tone to be meant entirely rhetorically.

“Yes.”

When the observation deck was seventeen minutes from closing, McCoy sat up. Spock retracted his arm.

“I think it’s about time to head back to the ship.”

“Very well,” Spock said.

They made their way to the docking port, McCoy walking with his hands clasped behind his back, and Spock following his lead, careful to maintain enough space between them in the corridor that their shoulders did not brush. In the turbolift, McCoy kept his eyes on the ground. He looked up in clear confusion when Spock made to step out with him when the doors opened on deck nine. Spock looked back at him, and McCoy dropped his gaze again, but said nothing until they reached his door.

“Thanks, Spock.”

“You are welcome. I appreciate your company this evening,” Spock said. The longer the night went on, and the longer McCoy persisted in his strange subdued demeanor, the more persistent the tendrils of insecurity that were creeping into Spock’s mind became. “Will you, still be available for dinner the night after tomorrow?”

“Yeah I’ll be available,” McCoy said, and then, “Good night.”

Without his permission, Spock felt his face run through several contortions and he opened his mouth to speak with out anything to say. He closed it again and nodded. McCoy looked pained.

One quick step forward brought him almost chest to chest with Spock and Spock held his breath as McCoy’s lips brushed his cheek. As McCoy stepped back Spock tried desperately not to smile.

“Night, Spock,” he said again, and this time he disappeared into his room leaving Spock to begin breathing again alone in the hall.


End file.
